She sat in front of the large vanity mirror, bulbs of harsh light blaring towards her milky skin. Her fingers grazed her cheek, kissed with black and blue and glazed with fresh tears. There was no amount of makeup to cover the evidence of the night and more importantly, no where to go otherwise.
Somehow this woman sat amidst twenty others and each blurred in the background around her without a second thought. No one looked beyond themselves to comfort or aid her, and she thought it best to get up and run, after all, how could she possibly stay?
The contents of her purse murmured as her perfectly manicured hands grasped for a package of cigarettes. Her hands shook as she lit the end, desperate to feel something other than her pain. A breath in, a breath out, repeated this. The smoke put an unnatural effect to the air, and she stared at herself longer, the image growing fuzzy.
The deep growl of the mans voice echoed in her mind and she shivered, the pearls and jewels that lined her gown followed. The woman sat, gaining strength and losing hope, but found the will to continue on; so she travelled back to set. She felt an added weight in her chest, and her body moved with a fluidity that seemed like a dream. Hands frozen to touch but keenly aware of the pistol discretely tucked within her purse.
Weeks ago when the beatings became regular, she thought this was the best way to protect herself, since she couldn’t leave. To have a means to the end, even if it meant the end of her. Her feet took her faster than she wished, her chest heaved in anticipation as her heart beat faster and faster.
Hands carried her farther, here and there to the perfect placement. The room hollowed out of sound and thought and there was only two that remained.
“Action,” began the sequence. Real tears were shed as false declarations of love were shared, and each step toward him had hatred rising within her. It overwhelmed every sense and dominated over logic, for herself and the woman she represented; the pistol found her hand.
All eyes dutifully pierced them, cameras rolling, waiting for the climax of the scene. She took two steps towards him, that bastard of a man, and pulled the trigger.
A Series of Observations 